


Rules of Engagement

by cymbalism



Series: Combat 'Verse [6]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, Jealous!McCoy, M/M, Mirrors, Power Dynamics, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymbalism/pseuds/cymbalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heart-to-hearts aren't really McCoy's deal, but ground rules are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules of Engagement

These academic conferences were bullshit, McCoy thought for the hundredth time as he took another wrong turn trying to find his way back to the lobby and the lifts.

This particular conference was being held in was some ritzy hotel where every surface was shiny, made from glass or metal, and reflective. For the most part it made McCoy dizzy, which led to a lot of retracing his steps. But that was small fry compared to the other, usual BS.

Getting accepted to give a paper at a conference always felt like a big deal, until you got there and realized the conference committee had apparently accepted every nitwit with the ability to string a few sentences together regardless of the quality of their research—and that went for the professors and professionals as much as the cadets. It took two panels for McCoy to figure out none of those big shots asked questions except to hear themselves speak and nobody was very interested in anything anyone else had to say, unless they were trying to disprove it using their own crap research as evidence, never mind whether it was relevant. His own presentation had gone just fine and he'd gotten some decent, half-intelligent questions and a few new contacts, but overall this sham of "fostering community among the sciences" was not his idea of a fun way to spend a weekend.

Jim, on the other hand, appeared to be having a ball.

His paper on genetically engineered grain had gone swimmingly and generated actual interest. Interest fueled, no doubt, by Jim's farm-boy good looks and appropriately timed aw-shucks smiles. For the last two nights, Jim had been plied with offers of publication opportunities, funded research positions, and free drinks, as well as a lot of the other kind of propositions, the kind liable to land you with one form of space VD or another.

So far Jim had come back to the room and the bed he and McCoy shared, but from the looks of what McCoy had seen the previous night at the hotel bar before he couldn't stand the sight any longer, it had been a close thing. Too close, in his opinion.

He was man enough to admit he was jealous. They'd been together a few weeks now, he and Jim, but still hadn't talked about just exactly how together they were. Jim might not need 'em, but McCoy liked things like boundaries and commitments and plans. Heart-to-hearts weren't really his deal, but ground rules were. So why he didn't think to cover a couple (dozen) with Jim before they jumped a shuttle to this fancy ass conference where getting laid seemed to be at least as high a priority as getting a line on your curriculum vitae, McCoy didn't know.

McCoy had made a decision to be in this and he wanted to know Jim was in it too, or at least that he wouldn't suddenly forget he was.

All right, so that was unfair—Jim was better than that and McCoy knew it. But he still wouldn't mind having a little reassurance after watching Jim flirt through the crowd of conference attendees and practically schmooze the pants off his panel chair in the Q&A at the end of his presentation. He knew for a fact Jim got propositioned at least three times their first night here, and that was _before_ he gave his presentation. It was all McCoy could do last night not to drag Jim out of the bar by the hair in a show of brute male dominance even he didn't know he was capable of, because he's a doctor, damn it, not a Neanderthal, and probably that behavior was one of the few actually frowned upon among this oh-so enlightened academic elite.

Finally making it back to the lobby, he grabbed a lift up to his floor. He'd gone to that early panel to hear a paper on capillary action under tissues regeneration. The fact that the three other papers had been downright boring had him climbing the stupid shiny walls. He wanted to put on clothes that weren't Starfleet issued and go be a person in the world for awhile. Whether Jim would be up and gone or still dead to the world in bed, he had no idea.

It turned out Jim was neither. He was crouched down on the floor on the far side of the bed, hunting through his bag. He stood up and started at McCoy's presence.

"Christ, Bones. Warn a guy." He moved out from around the bed and toward McCoy or, more likely, toward the bathroom entrance McCoy was standing next to. "I was gonna hit the shower. You're done in there, right?"

McCoy didn't answer, his voice lost to surprise.

One wall of their hotel room, the wall across from the entrance and parallel to the bed, was made of mirror. Part of it was actually a closet door and when they'd figured that out, shortly after arriving, McCoy had rolled his eyes and quipped _How convenient_. He had the same thought now, only this time he meant it.

Because there stood Jim in the reflection, altogether unassuming and unsuspecting, kinda pale and perfect, and completely naked.

McCoy took a step closer and watched his reflection as he pressed his lips to the arch of Jim's neck.

Jim looked at him sideways. "You okay there, Bones?"

McCoy took one last glance at Jim's rear end, then put a hand to Jim's shoulder and spun him around slowly, ignoring Jim's confused little protest.

Jim cocked his head at their reflection, but when McCoy kissed behind his ear Jim's eyes met his and there was devil in his grin. He didn't make a move, though, just relaxed back against McCoy and tossed away the undershirt he'd been holding.

Filled by an awe he didn't fully understand, McCoy put his hands to Jim's hips, then drifted them down, letting his fingertips drag over the hair on Jim's thighs on their way back up. Jim shivered and his eyes slipped shut for a second.

It had something to do with this, that awe. This moment—but also this person, this man, this damned audacious and infuriating Jim Kirk—and how he, McCoy, was the only one who got to see it. To have it. Have _him_. Even though so many others wanted him.

Hands back at Jim's hips, McCoy walked him a few steps closer to the mirror, further from the door, and nestled their bodies together, front to back. Jim's bare skin was a stark contrast to McCoy's red cadet uniform. McCoy reached one hand around and stroked lightly, open palmed, down Jim's torso, over his penis, to the inside of his thigh. Jim made an amused little noise of interest and McCoy watched the first signs of arousal play over his body. He nuzzled at Jim's ear again and Jim turned his head to kiss him, sideways and open-mouthed and sloppy. McCoy watched as Jim's erection grew, unaided by anything other than McCoy's mouth on his and one hand stroking the inner side of his thigh.

He held Jim fast when he tried to turn toward him.

One arm around Jim's waist, McCoy rubbed his fingers through the dark patch of scruff above Jim's dick, feeling it bump the back of his hand. When he wrapped his palm around that warm, full cock, Jim broke off the kiss with a gasp that turned into a moan. His head rolled back against McCoy's shoulder, eyes still closed. McCoy smiled at his reflection.

He watched then, watched his hand work Jim, watched Jim move under his touch, watched Jim's skin flush and felt his body writhe. He was hard, too, and from the way Jim ground back against him, he could tell Jim knew it. McCoy's touches were tender, but he thought about turning this rough, thought about bending Jim over right there, and taking him hard and fast but good.

But this moment wasn't about taking or claiming. It was about having.

Jim reached up to tangle his fingers in McCoy's hair and McCoy breathed in sharp. The image of Jim uninhibited, abdomen flushed and mouth open, totally lost to sensation—that was his.

Jim opened his eyes, making heavy-lidded eye contact in the mirror. "You like this, Bones?" he asked, voice coarse and coy. "You like seeing what you do to me?" He slid a hand over McCoy's wrist, riding along as McCoy jacked him, the way he sometimes did. "You want to watch me do it? Or maybe you should watch yourself fuck me." His eyes closed again, biting his lip for a second, "Oh shit I'd like that, Bones. Want to watch you fuck me." He pumped his hips, pushing in and out of McCoy's steady hand. "Makes me hard, thinking about that. You feel it? God, so hard for you."

And he was. So hard in McCoy's fist, and so slick.

"Are you gonna do it, Bones? Are you gonna fuck me?"

McCoy shut his eyes, trying not to let Jim's filthy mouth destroy him entirely.

"God, please, do it," Jim begged, grinding into McCoy. "Nobody fucks me like you."

The sudden image of someone else fucking Jim seared across McCoy's mind—someone buried in Jim, Jim's legs around him, head back and begging for it, both of them breathing hard. Or maybe Jim wanted to be the one doing the fucking, maybe he missed burying into someone, maybe some woman, maybe like the woman who practically ended up in Jim's lap at the bar last night.

McCoy swallowed back the taste of black jealousy and bit into Jim's shoulder. Jim gave a surprised shout, only slightly more pleasured than pained.

"Yeah, okay," McCoy growled when he regained his right mind, "We need to talk."

"Talk?!" Jim squawked as McCoy corralled him onto the bed, but he joined in with a smirk as soon as McCoy started stripping off his cadet reds. "Oh yeah. Okay, sure."

McCoy ignored him. He knew Jim would probably agree to anything right now, but he also knew Jim had his head enough to be turning his crank with all that dirty talk. It wouldn't be the first bargain brokered while somebody got screwed.

Jim scooted up the bed, but McCoy jerked his head to indicate Jim should roll over and face the other way. In seconds, Jim was on his hands and knees, and grinning at McCoy in the mirror. McCoy quirked a smile in return.

He ran his hands down Jim's back, and took a moment to part the cleft of Jim's ass and lick at that perfect pucker.

"Oh, goddamn— _Bones_ —" Jim sank to his elbows, face in the mattress, and thumped the bed with a fist. Tense at first, McCoy felt the moment Jim relaxed.

He moved up snug against him then, dipping his dick down to ride Jim low, from underneath, loving the feel of Jim's body heat around him. "I need to know a couple things," he said, leaning down to kiss the bite mark on Jim's shoulder. He lifted his eyes to get a good look at their reflection.

"Yeah, like what?" Jim asked, voice raw. He pushed back up onto his hands, and McCoy drew back as he moved, kissing his spine on the way.

"Just some ground rules." McCoy put his hand around Jim's cock again. "Just making sure we're on the same page here." He circled his thumb over the head and Jim let out a sound like his brain had flat-lined or his tongue had gone numb. "First, there's no more fights, right?" he asked, cupping the soft skin of Jim's sac and massaging, just on the rough side of gentle.

This time Jim made a strangled noise and dropped his head between his shoulders. "No, that's done," he panted. "I told you—after last time—"

"Just checkin'," McCoy smiled and left another kiss on Jim's back. "And no more pranks?" he asked. "No more kid games."

"You're the one pulling the prank here, I think," Jim chuckled shakily, eyes on the reflection of McCoy's hand on his cock.

"Very funny." McCoy slipped two fingers of his free hand into Jim's mouth. Jim laved McCoy's fingers with his tongue, letting go when they were good and wet.

McCoy let go of Jim's cock to use a hand for balance and reached back to that sweet spot he'd made damp. He slipped one finger in, accompanied by a blissed-out moan from Jim and followed closely by the second.

He'd never watched himself do that before, never seen that blown-away look on Jim's face so clearly. As a doctor McCoy reversed injury, eliminated illness, saved lives and he'd always thought of it as doing whatever was needed of him. But at that moment, right then, he really understood that egotistical god complex other doctors walk out of med school with. As Jim's expression flashed through unreserved indulgence and hungry desire and total trust, McCoy felt the addictive rush that comes with recognizing what you're capable of, how much power your hands can wield over another person. But this wasn't some random patient on a table—this was better. This was Jim. Jim who was letting him wield that power, who wanted him to, who was giving himself to McCoy.

That crazed possessiveness ratcheted tight in McCoy's chest.

"Okay, I agree. No more games." Jim breathed, just breathed, for a minute.

Then he met McCoy's eye in the mirror. "Unless necessary," he smirked. "Like this." He pressed his ass back firmly, pushing McCoy's fingers deeper, making them both groan. "This is totally fucking necessary."

He was damn right about that.

McCoy lubed himself up best and quick as he could. He guided his way into Jim with his hand, trying to keep his eyes on the mirror and not close them. It didn't work—Jim was too hot, too perfectly tight. "Dammit, Jim," he cursed, and started to fuck him slow.

Jim moaned and ohh'd and writhed against him, forcing McCoy to pick up his pace. Eyes glued to their reflection, McCoy did.

"Didn't I tell you, Bones?" Jim trembled beneath him, around him. "It's good, right—watching you fuck me." He flailed a hand back, grabbing for McCoy's hand. He wrenched it around and squeezed McCoy's fist tight around his cock, fucking into it in counterpoint to McCoy's thrusts. "Oh, God yes, Bones. Do it, do it—"

McCoy bent forward and braced an arm next to Jim's, pounding into him harder. His head was hazy with lust, with the smell of Jim's body and their sex. He could feel his heart beat against Jim's back and the stress of the last few days begin to slip away. But that snake twist of jealousy was still coiled in his chest, and he hadn't forgotten why he'd started this.

He rubbed his lips over Jim's ear, sure he would get his attention. "One more thing, darlin'," he whispered, voice stuck deep in his chest. "Just promise me one more thing."

Jim had both hands gripped hard in the bed cover, white knuckles bright, but he was barely hanging on. He shook his head wildly. "Anything."

"This is it. You and me." He licked a stripe up the top of Jim's spine. "No sleeping with other people."

Jim made an angry sound and tensed for a second, but McCoy hitched his hips, thrusting harder, and Jim slackened.

"I wouldn't— Oh God, Bones, fuck, yes— I don't need to. Jesus fuck, I don't need to." He breathed out and in and then, "Look at me," he ordered, voice suddenly sharp. " _Look_ at me, Bones."

McCoy obeyed, locking Jim's gaze for several seconds. His eyes wandered from the red flush of Jim's neck to his strong but shaking arms, his half prone form, and gorgeous, heavy cock. He met Jim's eye again. "You got it," Jim nodded weakly, worn ragged. " _You—_ "

And, of course. Of course McCoy could see it in Jim's whole body. Could see that this, all of this sweaty, quaking, beautiful mess was his. And he was damn lucky to have him.

He swooped an arm around Jim's chest and pulled him upright, sitting back on his haunches in a way that was hell on his knees, but the change of angle sank him deep, deeper. From Jim's loud, lost cries, McCoy was hitting that good spot with each short thrust.

He felt Jim clench, felt the climax roll through his body before it hit, and then with a hard groan Jim came. McCoy pushed a thumb over the head of Jim's pretty cock, over the slit, as his come ribboned out, watching Jim, open and unshy, in the mirror. Jim's hips stuttered and jacked, pulling on him, almost beg-beg-begging for him to come. So he did, throbbing up into Jim who moaned as he felt it and clung tight to the bed as they rode it out together.

They collapsed into a limp tangle of limbs.

McCoy scraped his legs out from under their bodies, knees creaking, and shifted to slide out of Jim. Jim rolled onto his back, looking exactly as well fucked as he was. McCoy reached over, picking up one of Jim's wrists and massaging it gently. Jim hummed some thanks.

Trading for the other wrist, McCoy kissed Jim's damp temple. "You want to get out of here for a while?" he asked.

Jim's groan was relief and annoyance rolled into one. "God, yes. Are you kidding? I hate these conferences."

McCoy laughed lightly. "You and me both," he said, intertwining his fingers with Jim's. "You and me both."


End file.
